All Hell (10 page)

And too fast.

His hooves catch Joe in the underbelly. His sharp fingernails slash down and rip through Silver Joe’s side. But Joe is one tough lobos. He takes it, twists inward, and sinks his teeth into Balzuzu’s arm, giving Rebel the opening he needs to go for the throat. Rebel’s teeth bite down hard around the demon’s neck. Balzuzu brings his elbow down cracking Rebel’s back. Silver Joe springs up and grabs Balzuzu’s lower jaw, trying his best to snap it off. It’s as savage a fight as I’ve ever seen, but to stay here and watch does my new friends a disservice. They’ve given me an opportunity. I need to make the most of it.

I take a knee and get the gun’s barrel tucked into my shoulder. I’m only going to get one shot at this so I better make it count. I get Big Red’s head lined up in my scope. Despite the brawl he’s in, he has the look of someone totally in control. And who could blame him. So far we’v
e hit him with everything we have and there’s not even a single scratch on his surface. There’s blood on him, but not a single drop is his. I focus the laser sight on his right eye hoping to change that. His skin may be as tough as a tank, but I doubt his eyeball lens has the same impenetrable density. Perhaps one well-placed bullet could end it all. But it’s the longest of long shots and the way they’re thrashing about, I can’t get a solid bead on it.

Instead I come up with a better idea... something that will really piss him off and put all of his attention back on me. I raise the gun slightly higher then fire a three round burst at the top of his head. Two of the bullets
hit their mark, his left curly horn, putting a crack in it. My next shot breaks it clean off as the bullet explodes off the top of his head. I log it in my file of all-time favorite monster moments.

He roars with anger, searching for me, knowing full well where the shot came from. I yell out to make it easy for him. “Hey, Clifford. Over here, asshole.”

His anger looks legendary. Rebel goes for his head and gets backfisted down the block. Silver Joe gets it even worse… claws through his rib cage followed by a hand that crushes them to powder. Balzuzu’s hurt them, but he’s no longer interested in their death. He’s only interested in mine. He darts toward me, an enormous bird of prey on a low altitude trajectory. Time for part two of my wiseass idea. There’s an overturned car in his path. I shoot a burst into the gas tank and when the incendiary ammo makes contact with the fuel line its great balls of fire. The flame engulfs him, which he’s probably used to, but the shockwave showers him with sharp debris and hurls him down the street.

He’s staggered, on his knees. Black blood trickles down his face. A sharp piece of metal protrudes from his leg. First I to
ok his horn. Now, I actually cut the fucker. I’m immensely pleased. I’ve wanted to stick something in this son of a bitch since the moment he emerged from the pit. Now I had one more thing to stick him with or, more accurately, stick to him. My pa said attaching this strip of metal to him was important. Now seems like the best time as I’m probably not going to get a better chance.

I
t’s my turn now to charge Balzuzu. He’s still low to the ground, shaking off the effects of the blast. I run in an arc, so my approach is from behind. While he’s yanking the shrapnel from his leg, I leap on his back, attach the adhesive metal strip in midstride, then plant my palm on his shoulder and propel myself over him in a neatly tucked somersault. When I hit the ground, I turn it into a shoulder roll and fire a bullet that ricochets off his forehead in a ping of smoke. I’d love to empty the clip but I can’t spare the time. I have a date with God. It’s time for me to get the fuck out of here.

I race to the church as Balzuzu lets out a bellow that’s loud enough to rip open the sky. Except it’s not the sky he wants to rip open. It’s me. The church doors are a sprint away. I figure ten seconds to get there, three more to pry them open and get inside. I hear Balzuzu running after me. His footfalls are thunderous. The street vibrates with every step he takes.

Seven seconds. Either I make it to the doors in time or I’m going to die.

Chapter 18

I turn my head for a microsecond and see Balzuzu’s closer than I thought. A part of my brain is telling my body to shit itself, which would be a problem because that would really slow me down. But even without the extra weight in my shorts, I know I’m not going to make it.

So fuck the door. While still running full speed, I shoot out the stained glass
window at ground level, circling my shots to make the opening as wide as possible. I feel the rush of air behind me. Balzuzu is right there, swiping at me, narrowly missing as I dive through the window. The glass I didn’t blast away shatters as I crash through it. A few shards cut my skin. I hit the marble church floor shoulder first then keep rolling until my momentum smacks me against a pew.

The thick cement bricks that enc
ase the window concaves inward as Balzuzu’s giant body collides with it. But the stone is centuries old and holds. Balzuzu sticks his head through the window and glares at me with a look that could kill a ghost. “I’m going to turn your body inside out and devour your soul,” he says. The scary part is he truly fucking means it.

His head disappears. An instant later he collides with the wall again, hard enough to shake the bedrock. A few bricks buckle, landing and cracking as they hit the floor. The remainder of the wall still holds. Though a few more hits like that one and he’ll be through
, and I’m fuck sure not hanging around here like it’s a waiting room. I get to my feet and haul ass down the aisle. There’s a door on the right side of the altar that leads to Father Miguel’s sanctum sanctorum. That’s where I need to go. I’m halfway there when the wall gives in and Balzuzu’s inside, a cloud of debris shrouding his entrance.

“Better pray,” he hollers.

I turn just enough to give him the finger and keep on running.

His anger’s getting the better of him now. He’s coming after me, but taking the time to smash the pews into little wooden pieces as he runs through them, a fearsome display of strength that gives me the extra seconds I need to reach the door. I twist the knob and dart through the narrow doorframe, slamming the door shut behind me
as if that’s going to stop him. I baseball slide down the flight of steps in front of me just as Balzuzu reduces the door and the frame around it to rubble. Oak splinters fly over my head, a reminder to me that if I stop running he’ll do the same to my bones.

Miguel’s room is through the open archway a few yards down the hall. I make a bee line as Balzuzu roars and pounds the walls causing
web-like cracking patterns every time his fist smashes the marble. He can’t maneuver as easily in the confined space. This particular hallway wasn’t designed to accommodate hulking nine-foot tall giants from Hell. It slows him down enough, letting me get into the large chamber with a big lead.

It’s the same huge empty whi
te room I remember being in years ago when Miguel examined my brother’s body. But there is one notable exception. A canvas sheet is covering something rather large off on the far right side. Father Miguel’s standing next to it, fists closed, staring at me, waiting for the devil to come in.

I don’t like the setup. Balzuzu’s going to be happy in here. The ceiling rises a hundred feet
high and the area is wide enough where Balzuzu could maneuver easily and fly free. Worse, there isn’t a single place for us to run or hide, save for a door leading outside which we would never reach in time. We were trapped.

I ran next to Father Miguel, fear in my eyes. He showed none. He simply nodded and raised a finger, a gesture displaying conviction and control.

“Have faith,” he told me.

The foundation sha
kes as Balzuzu’s thunders into the room, his massive powerful fists redesigning and widening the archway. His fingernails dig into the hardened marble walls. I momentarily imagine them digging into our significantly softer bodies. I could tell by the smirk on Balzuzu’s goat face that he’s probably imagining it as well, visualizing it in all its gory details. I see him quickly scan the chamber and I immediately know he came to the same assessment I did. We’re trapped here. There’s no place for us to run. We’re his to play with and all of us have our cards open-faced on the table.

Smoke blew from his fleshy snout and
he laughs. “Little pig, little pig, let me come in,” he mocks.

“Ummm… Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin,” I mumble under my breath.

Balzuzu takes a giant step forward, his hoof purposely cracking the marble floor. “Miguel… I was wondering where you’d run off to. How horribly are the two of you prepared to die?”

Father Miguel doesn’t waiver. “We are not the one’s dying here today, beast. It is you who should be prepared to perish,” he says back.

I have no idea what Miguel is talking about but I fucking love the bravado. They lock eyes, a stare down of biblical proportions. A long moment passes then Balzuzu breaks first.

He laughs again, mocking our pettiness. “You think you have something. You think you have a weapon you can use against me.”

“I have had years to prepare for your arrival,” states Miguel, matter-of-factly.

Balzuzu’s wings flap and he rises above the floor, assuming a position of superiority. He laughs again, heartily. “Did you find the Spear of Destiny? The Sword of Souls? Perhaps you are holding the mystical Eye of God? Do you truly believe any of those artifacts can hurt me?”

“God banished you in the Great Flood… with something as simple as water.” says Miguel.

“Ha! Do you think holy water will work on me?” Balzuzu scoffs. “I was born in the pits of Hell, a direct descendant of Araqiel, one of the Guardians of Heaven. I am imbued with the life and death
force of six hundred and sixty-six tainted souls. I am a Nephilim, a teacher of war… a ruler from the ancient days of earth. There is nothing you possess that could possible cause me harm.”

“I possess a belief in a greater power,” answers Miguel.

“You are an old fool, Miguel. Do you think God will answer your prayers?” Balzuzu scorns, more smoke blowing from his nostrils. “Do you think God will come down from his perch and save you? If God is your greater power then I will send you to him now.”

“Not God. The power of the United States Military,” says Miguel, yanking the canvas covering to the ground
, revealing what’s beneath it.

It’s a large weapon, one I’ve seen before when my pa gave me a tour of a battleship. It’s a RIM-116 rolling airframe missile launcher that’s bolted to the floor for extra support and loaded to the teeth with 21 fire-and-forget missiles, meaning once they’re launched they don’t need any additional guidance instructions.
Miguel uncurls his fist. In his palm is the RAM’s remote controller. He already has Balzuzu locked in as the target. “Now I’m going to blow a lot more than smoke up your ass,” Miguel says.

He fires and I see the momentary flicker of fear in Balzuzu’s eyes before the missile strikes him square in t
he chest, not even giving him a chance to move. The rocket carries the devil through the roof of the church and outside into the bright daylight. Rubble and debris rain down on us. A second later, the missile explodes.

“Holy—” I mutter. Father Miguel’s gaze stops me before I get to the second word. “You did it. You killed him.”

Miguel shakes his head. “Balzuzu is nearly indestructible. He sustains himself off the souls of others and unfortunately he has a near infinite supply. I am most certain he isn’t dead. I’m not even one hundred percent certain he can be dead. However, I believe we can injure him enough to force him from our world. Were you able to attach the transmitter to him?” he asks me.

The transmitter?
It clicks…
‘The higher calling’
. Cute. Now I know what the metal strip is. I nod.

“Good,” says Miguel. “These missiles
combine Sidewinder and Stinger technology. They are designed to automatically hone in on a target using infrared heat-seeking guidance or radio frequencies or in this case, my transmitter.” He twists a knob on the remote control and the RAM launcher system tilts upwards. Then he fires off a second missile. “Let us pray,” he adds.

I smirk. “You may make a good C
atholic out of me yet, Father.”

He takes that a
s his cue to fire off a third. The whoosh as the missile leaves its cylindrical housing is indeed the sound of a greater power. I exit through the rear door hoping to catch a glimpse of the lord’s handiwork, though the grotesque scene that greets me has nothing to do with him. The werewolves have seized the advantage and are making mincemeat out of the zombies. They’re tearing through them as savagely as a wood chipper does a tree. Dead body parts fly around like confetti at a parade. The bright side is, I’m glad to see the surviving townsfolk fighting side by side with them, guns blazing’, doing their best to help out. I don’t spot my pa or Silver Joe in the chaos—not good—but Rebel’s out there working out his aggression, doing just fine.

Two more vibrating blasts come from inside the church as two more
RIM’s break through the roof. Father Miguel isn’t taking any chances. I scan the skies looking for the big red bastard. I don’t see him at first but the path the missiles take tell me where to look. I see Balzuzu ascending into the sky about a half mile to the west. From this distance, the way his wings are spread along with the long angular shape of his face, he resembles a dragon, one that’s out for revenge and coming to burn our village to the ground.